by Vaso
'Ah, no!' Valentine shook her head and the habitual cautious composure had vanished from her lovely voice in the spontaneity of her sympathy. 'Poor Rose, and the poor little cat ... I hope it didn't suffer too long. And poor, poor Philip!'
Kemp looked at her intently. 'You do pity him after all.'
'Oh, I always have,' she confided slowly and sadly. A gesture of one slender hand was indicative of her helpless frustration. 'He must have been unhappy all his life, a self-inflicted unhappiness. If I'd known———'
'It would have made no difference,' Kemp interrupted tautly.
'None,' she agreed sharply, sensing criticism. 'I couldn't have been blackmailed emotionally.'
'You must have come as a shock to Philip,' Kemp suggested, grimly reflective. 'All his life he had been able to force the love he demanded from people, his parents and wife, and there you were, unmoved and unmoving.'
'A monster of cruelty,' Valentine agreed caustically.
'For God's sake, Valentine!' Kemp exclaimed explosively. 'Your hostile manner does nothing to win you sympathy, you know. Doesn't it help you at all to know this about my cousin?'
She shrugged nonchalantly. 'I suppose it confirms my belief that he was emotionally immature . . . unstable. And it seems to suggest that I alone can't have been responsible for the break-up of his marriage———'
'I'm afraid you were, however inadvertently,' Kemp interrupted her harshly. 'You'll know from the evidence that he left Rose only twelve days before he committed suicide.'
For a fleeting moment her dark head drooped, the sunlight catching the rich brown sheen of her curls. Then she stared at him, a brilliant forced smile on her lips.
'Rose must have been crazy,' she said in a hard, tight little voice.
'She loved him,' he contradicted her. 'Whatever he did, she loved him.'
'That's what I said,' she mocked. 'Love makes fools of us all, doesn't it?'
'I doubt if you know much about that particular emotion, sweetheart,' Kemp derided. 'Whom have you ever loved, Valentine?'
'ThankGod, I've only the experience of observing what it does to others,' she said.
'Yes?'
He sounded sceptical and Valentine let her gaze slide casually away from his tense, contemptuous face. She stared unseeingly at the clear blue mountains. Dear God, if Kemp knew—She recalled the revenge he had threatened to take on St Valentine's Day, her most miserable birthday to date. He had said he would have her at his feet and in tears; he had sworn to bring down the citadel of her pride. He had wanted her humble to the point of humiliation, he had said.
If he but knew it, though most of the pride was intact, and there had not been a solitary tear, still she was in a sense at his feet, and for as long as she remained in daily contact with him, he would be able to trample over her.
Valentine practised a smile in the direction of the mountains before facing him agairi.
'Is that today's session of punishment over with, Kemp?' she asked bitingly. 'It is punishment you're aiming at, isn't it, with these constant references to my past?'
'Your past is also your present,' he retorted tersely. 'What happened to Philip is still affecting you now.'
'You're making sure of that, aren't you? Every mention of Philip is meant to torture me———'
'You fool!' Kemp interrupted her furiously. 'Do you think I enjoy talking about Philip? There are a hundred other methods I could use if I wanted to torture -you, more enjoyable methods . . . for both of us.'
Valentine looked at him warily and saw his meaning in the intense blue glance which had dropped to her lips and then the open buttons of her shirt.
'No, thank you,' she said tartly.
'You look wildly romantic, sitting in a field of flowers,' he mused. 'The sun is touching your hair and your eyes are the colour of dark sapphires; a woman as lovely as you is like a miracle. Red lips and a skin with the lustre of pearls . . . You're all invitation, a demon and an angel. And those legs, Valli . . . Why not?'
She met his hard smile with one of her own. 'I'm afraid the memory of the last time lives on, Kemp. I haven't forgotten the bruises I collected, still less the impression I gained that I was nothing more than an object to you, that you were using me as you'd use a woman you'd bought.'
'I've never had any need to buy myself a woman, sweetheart,' he told her angrily.
'No, I don't suppose you have,' she said in a considering little voice as cold as snow. 'I can imagine how willingly and how gratefully women grant Whatever you demand . . . But I'm different, Kemp.'
'Very, very different,' he confirmed drily. 'Totally unique and unutterably lovely.'
'I don't want you to touch me,' she said very clearly.
But he was already pulling her into his arms, gently x but firmly. 'There'll be no bruises this time, I promise you,' He murmured against her loose silken curls. Valentine's eyes were wide and expectant as they encountered the brilliance of his, and her lips were parting already, their redness a provocation.
Kemp kissed her and she felt a warm melting sensation within her. She was boneless, and weightless. She might have been floating. Her hands strayed to his shoulders and then the back of his head, and she moaned in protest at the utter sensuality of his mouth as their lips writhed sinuously together, twining in a message of mutual hunger.
His arms tightened about her as he lowered her gently back on to the grass, and when their mouths came apart they each drew a shuddering breath. Why, why did he have to affect her so powerfully, and so rapidly? Valentine turned her lips back to his and their mouths seemed to merge, symbolising the deeper oneness that she craved with a yearning which would soon become unbearable. Kemp, she vaguely realised, was in control of the situation, with passion kept at bay, the expertise and finesse of his embrace a sure indication of his deep experience.
'Damn you!' she said furiously when her mouth was free again. 'You don't even want me!'
'Make me want you, Valli,' he challenged tautly.
'I will,' she vowed tempestuously.
'The way you want me?'
'Yes!'
He was cruel, her mind protested. This was the torture he had spoken of. Dear God, where were pride and sanity, and the coolness she had cultivated for so long?
He lay next to her, on his side now, waiting for her to act, and Valentine's fingers strayed to the buttons of his soft blue shirt and began to unfasten them, tentatively at first but becoming swifter. Then she pulled herself closer to him, caressing his warm skin, tugging gently at the fine curling hairs on his chest while her mouth pressed lightly against his, her tongue just flickering over his lips as she succeeded, at terrible cost, in concealing her own desperate hunger.
Finally, just when she was coming to the despairing conclusion that here was a man totally immune to her, Kemp moved convulsively, gathering her hard against him and then pushing her on to her back once more, lowering himself on to her.
'God, Valli . . . You're a witch!'
'Casting bad spells over men,' she supplied in a moment of bitterness, remembering suddenly that revenge was all he sought. 'I hate you, Kemp.'
'You want me,' he stated arrogantly, and claimed her mouth.
The rhythms and pulses of their bodies had quickened their tempo and now Valentine realised that Kemp's skin was as heated as hers, and his breathing equally erratic. He drew back a little to deal with the buttons of her shirt, next freeing her breasts from the confinement of her bra and finally unfastening the waistband and zip of her shorts.
'You're so unbelievably beautiful,' he muttered urgently.
His fingers gently teased her nipples into hard, hot points, and Valentine gasped with delight, her hands clutching feverishly at his shoulders.
'Ah . . . God! Kemp, please!'
The agonised appeal in her voice and eyes made him draw a sharp breath and he lowered his head to put his mouth to each thrusting breast in turn, his tongue flicking lightly at the tips, darting over them until throbbing pleasure was
almost pain. Above them the sun beamed from a cloudless sky and the mountains reared in serene majesty, but Valentine, groaning with pleasure, knew nothing of them. This man filled her world, became her world, and she was helpless under the welter of passion he aroused in her with even his lightest, most careless touch. " 'I want you,' she pleaded frenziedly, half crazed with desire, her flesh burning under his hands which he had slid beneath her, kneading and caressing her back and shoulders with powerful strokes.
Kemp's mouth made a slow, sensual journey back to, her hot moist lips once more, the weight of his body pres: sing her back against the soft grass, and Valentine writhed beneath him, her hands moving convulsively over his damp back, her breasts crushed hard against his chest.
'Valentine!' Her name was a gasping groan on his lips.
'Please,' she screeched, feeling his male hardness against her body and knowing he wanted her as much as she did him.
A high, wild little cry broke from her as he drew back and the sound seemed to hang quivering in the still air, terrible in the longing it conveyed. Now his hands were sliding and gliding erotically over her flat stomach and hips, down to the satiny skin of her thighs, and Valentine trembled violently.
'Kemp! For pity's sake, take me,' she begged shamelessly in a voice that was raw, while her body jerked frantically upward towards his. 'End this torture. Take me!'
He seemed to draw further away from her. 'Ah, yes . . . you see! Just one of the myriad ways in which I can torture you, my lovely Valentine. No! Don't touch me again just now,' he added sharply when she reached for him.
'You're cruel,' she moaned. Their mingled perspiration was acid-sharp on her swollen breasts and every nerve-end, every drop of blood, cried out for his possession.
'Crueller than you know, and cruel to myself too,' he murmured ironically, sitting up and pulling his long ago discarded shirt on again. 'But you see, I think I must be a conventional man: romantic as a field of flowers might be, I prefer lovemaking to reach its conclusion in the comfort of a wide soft bed with all the long dark night ahead of me.'
'You bastard,' Valentine whispered intensely, sitting up and gathering the two halves of her front-fastening bra together over her breasts with shaking hands.
This, then, was what he had meant when he said he could torture her. He was clever. To tempt and then to deny; to take her to the very brink of ecstasy and then abandon her there, was a far greater torment than to have him take loveless possession of her would be. Dear God, he knew 'her and her needs too well.
'Another reason is that I have an appointment with Emma Ducaine in a short while,' he went on lightly, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he noted the hot blaze of her eyes and the wild tangle of her curls. 'We're taking the horses out.'
At that moment she felt hatred like a pure white flame inside her. 'You can't do this to me!'
'Why not?' he derided as she stood up.
'I won't accept it.' The tremor had gone from her hands as anger gave her strength of mind, and she buttoned her shirt rapidly. 'I won't allow your revenge to take this form, Kemp. I'll———'
'God! You're still far from ready to become my lover,' he said with sudden inexplicable fury. 'You don't even trust me!'
'Why should I? And don't you trust me either in future, Kemp,' she warned with a malicious little smile. She rose gracefully, zipping up her shorts and tucking her shirt into the waistband. With her head flung back she looked at him from very clear eyes. 'I'll seduce you. When you're least expecting it, I'll seduce you.'
'What a threat!' Kemp laughed, relaxing again. 'You're incredible. But why warn me? Now I shall be on my guard.'
'I can, you know,' she threatened gently.
'I shall look forward to your attempt.' He surveyed her proud face thoughtfully. 'You don't accept defeat easily, do you?'
'I refuse to countenance it.'
'I'm afraid you'll have to.' Kemp glanced at his^watch. 'I must be getting back. Emma will be arriving shortly. Are you coming back with me or staying here?'
The tip of Valentine's tongue appeared, exploring the rawness of her kiss-swollen lips, and her eyes grew amused. 'It would be too cruel to let her see me return with you, and all my lipstick gone.'
'You look very beautiful even without it ... more like a woman than the fairytale heroine you so often resemble. In fact, your face tells a very explicit story,' he mocked.
'A story Emma might benefit from knowing if she still hasn't abandoned hope,' Valentine suggested sweetly. She shrugged. 'But it's not my duty to help you let her down gently, Kemp. Go back and do it yourself. I'.m staying here.'
'Planning the great seduction scene?' he challenged.
'That's it exactly,' she countered smartly, her smile dazzling.
He shook his head. 'The fantasies women indulge in! A waste of time, but I suppose as it's Sunday you have plenty. I'll see you later, sweetheart.'
'Oh, and don't forget to let Emma know I've been encouraging you to give up her beloved Country Life,' Valentine called after him flippantly.
Kemp looked back, laughing, but the smile faded from Valentine's face as he turned away again.
Harvesting progressed. An air of quiet satisfaction seemed to pervade Fleurmont and its neighbouring estates as the workers became confident that they were going to beat the weather. Once the vintage was 'onder dak' it could do what it would. Only Freddie Jansen remained pessimistic.
Valentine watched and waited. Her purpose remained fixed and a certain vibrant anger gave her strength. She did not deserve to be punished for what Philip had done and she was determined to thwart Kemp's cruel tactics. It was the cleverest thing he could have thought of; but then he knew too well the deep needs of her passionate nature and the powerful effect he had on her. She didn't doubt that he intended making love to her again and then leaving her frustrated, probably again and yet again if she remained here.
And she refused to stand for it. She knew she did not merit such treatment and she could almost hate him for believing she did. A fey, reckless mood lay on her these days, adding an air of gypsy wildness to her beauty, and Kemp often looked at her speculatively.
She had meant it when she had threatened to seduce him, and now she was simply biding her time, waiting for the right moment. She had both intelligence and insight enough to recognise the complexity of the man. His moods were many and varied, some of them dark, so that he was broodingly unapproachable, and she knew that just now he was in the grip of frustration at having to be here instead of travelling the world, doing the work that had truly been a vocation with him.
But the right mood would come, she knew, and then-— Kemp wouldn't be able to alter the situation. He could desire her at times, and she would make sure he wanted her sufficiently to abandon the intention of merely tempting her. Valentine often smiled to herself as she anticipated her final victory, heedless of what she might be doing to herself when she achieved it. Emotional safety didn't seem to matter any longer in this conflict: triumph was all-important.
>What's going on between you and Kemp?' Salome asked with a grin one morning as she stopped to talk after bringing a set of clean glasses tp the visitors' room. 'You watch him and he watches you, and what happens? Precisely nothing. Maude says you're still alone in your own bed when she takes you coffee every morning.'
'You've been interrogating her, Salome,' Valentine teased. 'It isn't automatically a matter of course that propinquity will drive two people into each other's arms.'
'Propinquity?' Salome shook her startling amber head. 'That doesn't sound like what I mean. I'm talking about that . . . that tension between you and him. I had thought that two strong characters like you would . . . But perhaps there's too much strength of will on both sides. That can lead to a clash of personalities according to my magazines. Or perhaps you just believe in marriage?'
'I do, as a matter of fact,' Valentine said coolly.
But marriage was an ideal she had put firmly out of sight by this time. Men married where th
ey loved and respected. Kemp was a man she would have married; she had known that since her first sight of him; her man, but for all that had come between them. Now he despised her and even his desire wasn't enough if he could set out to deliberately frustrate her own.
But she would make it enough, she vowed.
'I think it would be nice if there was a party at Fleurmont after the last grapes are in,' she suggested to Kemp at breakfast one morning.
'As you wish. Just as long as you and Sylvie and Salome handle the arrangements,' he gave his permission easily, watching her face and seeing her smile of satisfaction. 'You love parties, don't you?'
'What woman doesn't?'
'Many women—the plain and the shy, for a start,' he retorted. 'Do you ever think of your less blessed sisters, Valentine?'
'Frequently, wishing I was like them,' she said, borne down for a moment by the curse of the beauty he derided.
'Yet you'd never deliberately subdue your beauty or mute that charm, would you?' he challenged.
'Never,' she agreed with a smile. 'I'd be a hypocrite if I made myself. . . less than I am.'
'And this wish for a party springs from a purely feminine desire to sparkle in your most flattering setting, I imagine,' he mocked. 'Go ahead and enjoy yourself then. Spend as much as you) like on catering and music. The account books tell me that the estate is flourishing.'
'And shall I act as hostess?' she enquired lyrically, eyes sparkling with mischief.
'Why should you want that role?' His lips twisted. 'Because you know it will upset Emma?'
'Oh, I'd quite forgotten Emmar,' Valentine dismissed the girl airily. 'But don't you think, Kemp, that it's my place to be the hostess?'
'Conceivably, it's Sylvie's,' he countered impatiently. 'She's been on Fleurmont longer than you.'
'Ah, but her name hasn't been linked with yours, and you are, after all, the owner,' Valentine reminded him with gentle malice.
'Now what rumours have you been hearing?' he asked, looking amused. 'The same ones that Mrs Ducaine has warned me about?'
